


five significant moments

by invictxs



Series: Astrid - Avvar healer and (hopeful) revolutionary [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Tabletop RPG), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Avvar, Avvar Culture and Customs, Darkspawn, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Original Character Death(s), Rite of Tranquility, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 10:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17424437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invictxs/pseuds/invictxs
Summary: Five defining events in Astrid's life.(Snippets of backstory for my Dragon Age Tabletop RPG character.)





	five significant moments

iv -

            When they’d dragged her away, she’d asked questions, screaming and kicking her legs; the templar had been as silent and cold as the statues of Andraste that decorated the orphanage. It wasn’t her fault, she’d screamed. One of the older boys had grabbed her hair and pulled until her head snapped back. He’d never liked her, always been cruel, and the situation had been inevitable. He was bigger and stronger and _nastier_ than her.  


            He pulled her a couple of inches off the floor, screaming and flailing, before she’d managed to hit him in the face with her fist. Her ice-enclosed fist. The Chantry sister who taught her to read had screamed like she was some kind of monster. The punch had given the boy a black eye that covered half of his face. The swift arrival of the templars prevented her taking any satisfaction in it. The smite had taken her by surprise. They’d never been taught that templars could do anything like that. She crumpled against the the floor, world washed out.  


            When she finally blinked the white spots away from her eyes, only one templar was left. The chantry sister spoke in hushed whispers, casting fearful glances in her direction every few seconds. The templar had few words for the chantry sister, and even fewer for her. They’d hauled her to her feet, holding her aloft by the back of her dress when her knees folded.  


            She’d been dragged out of the orphanage in front of everyone. Dozens of eyes watched her progress as she left. Their gaze felt like a physical weight. Nobody made a sound; even the children who she’d been friendly with were silent and wary, as if they could catch magic from meeting her gaze.  


            Worse though were the chantry sisters. They watched her go with satisfaction, like she was some dangerous thing to be tossed into a deep, dark hole and forgotten about. They had fed and clothed and taught her for as long as she could remember. Screaming to them for help had made them scoff, like they would help an abomination.  


            It took the fight out of her, more than anything else.

            The stars sparked into existence while the templar dragged her through the forest. Dim light spilled from the lantern clutched tightly by her captor. The other hand curled painfully around her wrist, pulling her along fast enough that she stumbled every few steps. Her tears had stopped hours ago, when she noticed the templar pulled her along all the harder for them. Falling silent seemed the safest option.  


            Darkness cloaked them. Shapes moved in the shadows of the forest, but her captor didn’t spare even a glance to them, striding ahead with unshakable resolve. So single-minded was the templar that they didn’t notice the shadows following them. The shadows followed, quiet as the dead. For a second, she wanted to drag the templar’s attention to them- and then she remembered how the templar has treated her, and the whispers of how mages are hated and dangerous. Perhaps they would’ve cast her into the shadows to be devoured. She stayed silent.  


            And then there was a whistle, barely louder than the hum of the forest at night. The arrow flew true and buried itself in the templar’s shoulder; suddenly, she found herself released. She didn’t even think about it; she fled in the opposite direction. The templar cursed and drew a sword somewhere behind her, but it was unheard over the sound of her fearful heartbeat. Without the feeble light of the lantern she quickly became lost, tripping every few feet. She scrambled to her feet after each fall, terrified of being caught. Numbed by fear, the pain didn’t touch her as she ran.  


            Slamming chest-first into something solid finally stopped her. She fell backwards, scrambling away as light bloomed. Her back met the tree trunk. It took a few painful seconds for her eyes to adapt to the sudden light.  
“Shh, it’s alright,” whispered the cloaked woman in heavy accented trade. A small flame sputtered in the palm of her hand. “You’re safe now.” Raising her other hand placatingly, the woman moved forward until she was crouched within arm’s reach. “I’m Hilda. I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”  


             The other hand extended towards her. There was no hesitation as she took it; she wanted so badly to be safe. Hilda picked her up effortlessly, holding her against her hip with one arm while the other lit their way. It seemed so much brighter than the lantern had been, and a sudden wave of exhaustion hit her as Hilda walked. Half-hearted tears slipped out as she rested her head against Hilda’s chest. She dozed off to the steady sound of a heartbeat.

            They gave her a new name later to match her rescue. Hilda and her family embrace her wholeheartedly; nobody questioned it. Hilda’s son was kind to her and delighted in showing her the ways of the Avvar, and the augur - Hilda’s husband - was always patient when she asked questions. Thane Kattrin was everything she never realised she wanted to be; strong and good and brave.  


             Nothing made Astrid happier than leaving behind the Chantry and their teachings and everything she was before.  


            (It ended eventually, of course. Sithig spent days desperately trying to heal Hilda; a fever caused by a week-old wound, resistant to magical healing. They gave her a sky burial soon after. The three of them- her, Rig and Sithig, spend the day after curled up and hidden away. For Astrid, who thought of Hilda as a quarter of her entire world, it felt like everything was crumbling beneath her feet.)

 

x -

            Nerves paralyzed her for the entire day before she was due to receive her spirit teacher; she confided to Rig that she worried they wouldn’t like her.  


            “Why wouldn’t they?” Rig had asked, genuinely curious. Astrid had huffed, unable to put the feeling into words, and had instead tackled him and started a wrestling match. It had taken her mind off of things, to his credit. Rig was her favourite - and admittedly only - brother.  


            Standing before the gods, with her father beside her, Astrid pushed her fear aside and stood as tall as she dared.There was some amused clamouring over this, and her father considered the gods before her carefully in turn. Some were dismissed without a thought, while others took careful consideration, until only one remained  


            Words failed her when she felt Compassion for the first time. There was a sudden, all-consuming sense of warmth and _oh_ , she thought, was this what I was missing?

 

xii -

            Astrid was twelve when she first followed her brother, Svarah and Björn to trade with the dwarves; father had declared her fit to accompany them nearly a month ago. Daily practice with her magic meant she was as prepared as she could be; every other mage in the hold probably held ten times her skill, but that wasn’t the point. In a fight, the two of them probably wouldn’t have even be able to defend the cart of goods they had brought.  


             Not that it mattered. The dwarves were hardy and capable in a fight, and Avvar scouts had already cleared the path to the meeting point for both parties. The trip was, more than anything, to show her and Rig more of the duties of various hold-members.  


             Four well armed dwarves awaited them with a caravan of goods, and they greeted the Avvar warmly. The oldest, a surface dwarf merchant named Garen, introduces the others as his children; Darun, Bhelesch, and Braxis. Svarah immediately gravitated towards Garen, trading gossip and stories. As skald of Frost-Elk Hold, she told stories like no other, even if she was young, and the dwarves seemed to delight in listening.  


             Braxis was shy, for the daughter of a merchant and a dwarf, but she warmed up to Astrid and Rig. She was barely a year older than them, and seemed to find them fascinating. Her and Rig got into a heated debate about weapon forging, and Astrid ducked her head so they don’t see her grin over it. Arguing brought out the brightness in Braxis, made her wittier and sharper. A number of dry remarks at Rig’s expense are shared between Astrid and Braxis, and she was pretty sure it’s the most she’s laughed in years.  


             If Astrid was in a particularly dramatic mood, she might’ve called it love at first sight.

 

xvi -

            In the darkness of the forest, she almost missed the dark shape slinking across the path ahead of her.  


             She’d been sneaking out to meet Braxis for almost an entire year now. Father had made it clear that she had a duty to the hold, one that she was loath to neglect. So, instead she sneaked out. Only ever for a couple of hours each night, of course, but it’s something. A few stolen hours. Somebody must have noticed her sneaking out after all this time, but nobody ever stopped her.  


            The dwarven tattoos covering both her arms were probably more of a give away, but she’s managed to hide them underneath her poncho in the bitter winter weather so far. Braxis had spent an entire night carefully etching them into her skin, laughing and stealing kisses the whole time.  


            Hell, her improved trade would probably have given her away, if they didn’t all speak Avvar. Speaking to Braxis made the trade tongue easier and more familiar. Dwarven was better than trade, but her and half of the Hold had picked up odd words through trading with the dwarves.  


            The biggest giveaway would have to be her unsubtle questions about marriage, although she was careful to only ask through Rig, who she knew won’t betray her trust. He was a good brother. Half the hold thinks Rig was ready to marry, and an outsider at that, but nobody had yet spoken to her father about it. Hopefully.  


             It was not a conversation she was eager for. Braxis hadn’t even really discussed it with her; the tattoos were a promise of something, but neither of them put words to it. There was just an understanding that they will be together, whatever happens.  


            Part of her would regret never talking about it.

            Astrid could count at least a dozen darkspawn visible on the path. They were a stone’s throw from the hold, and Astrid froze. Her blood ran cold. If someone didn’t alert the hold, the people she loved would die. She thought of Braxis, alone on the hill they met on, being attacked by darkspawn. And then she thought of her brother and father, of the children in the hold, of her home in ruins. Indecision clawed at her, and she was painfully aware of the darkspawn only meters away.  


            She took a deep breath and slunk back to the hold, moving as fast as she could without drawing attention to herself. Aesa startles visibly when she hurled herself over the top of the Hold’s walls, landing in an undignified crouch.  


            “Darkspawn!” Astrid hissed, shoving her way past her. Kattrin was half awake when she barged in, crouching before her Thane to whisper the details of the situation. Kattrin asked for details while she dressed in a rush, hefting her axe as they both head into the centre of the hold. Father and Rig met them in the clearing, with more armed Avvar pouring out with them. Father nodded severely at Kattrin and then turned to Astrid.  


            “Stay here. Protect the hold!” Astrid opened her mouth to argue, desperate to find Braxis and warn her about the darkspawn. His face hardened, “This isn’t a debate. Both of you are staying.”  
Rig joined her in indignant protests. “We’re not children that need to be protected!”  


            “The hold needs protecting. The children and the elders need protecting. Are you a warrior of Frost-Elk Hold or some lowlander glory seeker?” Kattrin snapped, impatient. Rig wilted, ducking his head in the face of Kattrin’s rebuke.  


            Astrid stepped forward, haltingly. _Please_ , she thought. “The dwarves-”  


            “We’ll send a messenger to them as soon as the hold is safe,” Kattrin said. Astrid closed her eyes and nodded.

 

            Astrid ran to the meeting place as soon as the darkspawn were defeated. Kattrin barely had time to give her permission; she was still too late.

 

            “You did the right thing,” Kattrin said, after they had returned Braxis’ body to Garen for her family to mourn. Her body had gone cold by the time Astrid had found her. “If not for your extra guard shifts we would all be dead.” Astrid heard the emphasis, and knew that Kattrin knew. She didn’t really care. She felt drained and scooped out, as if part of her had died there too. All she wanted was to curl up around and sob. “Get some rest,” Kattrin ordered, not unkindly, one hand resting against her shoulder.

 

xix -

            “I need to do something!”  


            “I know,” her father soothed.  


            “The templars dare closer every year. They attacked Wyvern Hold last year, just dumped one of their mages back in their territory _after what they did_ , and still we know nothing about them,” Astrid ground out, staring at the fire with her arms crossed.  


            “I know, little one.” Astrid turned her head to meet his eye. She’d expected protest. Kattrin watched the two of them with disguised amusement.  


            “If anyone could find out the templar’s secrets it would be you,” Kattrin said finally. “Which is why we’re giving you as many rations as you can carry, and a new weapon,” her father finished. Astrid paused, brought up short. She swipes at the tears that threaten to fall.  


            "I’m sorry,” she mumbled, and she was. She couldn’t have stayed, with how the restlessness clawed at her, but she didn’t really want to leave either. But the templars- the mage she’d found, wandering around after they’d _taken his soul_ \- she couldn’t ignore that. They needed information, a way to fight back. (It was as good a distraction as any.)  


            “I know,” father soothed as he brought her into a crushing hug. “Be safe.”  


            “I will. I’ll be back soon,” she murmured, tucked against his side like he could keep her safe through sheer strength of will.


End file.
